Mounted renegades whirled around the buildings, cutting off avenues of escape for those within. Men on foot forced the porter's lodge in front, while others rushed through the artisans' shops in the rear.
Padre Osuna, Juan Antonio, major-domo, and nearly every able-bodied peon of the Mission were busy with the trading ships lying at the Embarcadero two leagues away, on the south arm of San Francisco Bay. The institution was defenseless before the invaders, who were under the capable command of a stocky, strongly built aborigine who sat on his horse in the road which ran alongside of the house of the girl neophytes.
"Bring up the led horses," the chief had ordered when the uproar was greatest.
The screaming of frightened women broke out in shrill notes, accompanied by the furious baying of the mastiffs straining at their chains.
A shot or two sounded in the patio.
"Some of the women have got behind the gratings and are shooting at their wooers," half laughed, half grunted the leader.
"Stanislaus," asked a man near him, "can our fellows get into this place where the girls are? At Monterey they are behind doors you couldn't smash with an ax in half a day."
"Cayetano," was the reply, "I was major-domo here for years. The task set for those of us sent inside is easy. The peonas are spunky," he continued, "but they'll be the better wives in the wild hills we go to. If the enemy comes, our tepees will not be undefended in our absence."
Indians carrying struggling neophyte peonas filled the porch of the house. They sprang to the ground below and upon the backs of the waiting mounts. Soon two hundred horses were bearing double burdens.
"Any more to come?" called Stanislaus.